Monday, January 9, 2017

Chapters 3 & 4


Chapter 3

            I should begin many years ago, with a funeral. It was several weeks after the death and burial of Yosef bar Jacob that I finally was able to arrive in Nazareth and visit his burial site. By the time I arrived, the family was in the midst of mourning. I came as soon as I received word, but the journey from Jerusalem took the better part of a week, and custom dictated burial of the body immediately. I missed the funeral and was not able to participate in the procession. I also missed the common meal of condolence.
            The wife of the deceased was my niece, Miriam, the daughter of my brother, Joachim. As her next of kin, I was responsible for her welfare as well as that of her children.
            Yosef’s death had been sudden and unexpected. The word I received was that he died from an accident involving a scaffold while working on a large new mosaic for a wealthy homebuilder in Sepphoris.

***

“Yes, Sepphoris is a beautiful city!” Publius interrupted. “As you know I used to live only thirty miles from Sepphoris, on the coast at Caesarea. I remember often hearing it referred to then as The Jewel of the Galilee. Once Herod Antipas decided to make it his capital, Sepphoris grew quickly as he poured obscene amounts of money rebuilding the city in that modern, lavish Greco-Roman style. But client Rulers needed to build things so everyone would know who the ruler was!" Publius shook his head sadly. “It was my job, then, to keep the people, who were so shamelessly taxed to pay for such extravagances, from rebelling!” He shrugged. “Well, at least rebuilding Sepphoris kept Yosef employed.”
            "Yes," Yosef retorted. "Rebuilding Sepphoris kept Yosef employed so he could earn money to pay his taxes to fund rebuilding Sepphoris!"
            Publius shrugged again. “Welcome to the modern world, the Pax Romana, the “Roman Peace.” That is how it works!"
            Yosef appeared as if he was about to reply, then paused, as if thinking better of it and returned to the telling of his story.

***

            Yosef had often worked in Sepphoris, as it was only a five-mile walk from the Nazarene Essene encampment loosely referred to as, “Nazareth.” He was in much demand in Sepphoris for his crafts of carpentry, masonry, and the creation of large mosaics.
            I had been in Jerusalem when the news of Yosef's death arrived, having only recently returned there from two years at sea trading tin from Britannia and silks from India and the Far East. It had been a long and arduous, but highly profitable, excursion. When I learned of Yosef's tragic demise, I excused myself from my duties at the Sanhedrin and came with four hired guards and six horses. It had not been easy to employ professional guards on short notice, and I had to pay a premium price. Traveling alone along bandit-infested roads, however, was not an option. It was thus two weeks after the funeral that I was finally able to pay my respects to the family, and to offer what help I could. I arrived with my guards on a Friday afternoon, the day of preparation for the Sabbath.
My niece, Miriam, greeted me with her seven children, spaced roughly two years apart in age. The eldest was Yeshua, a young man of thirteen. His younger brothers were Jacob, age ten, Jude, six, Simeon, three, and the youngest was Yose, age two. His sisters, also younger, were Marta, age eight and Rut, age four.
            The family talked all at once trying to piece together the details of the tragedy. The resulting story was that it was because of the falling of a scaffold while he was at work on a mosaic that Yosef was critically injured. A messenger from Sepphoris stopped at the small workshop that Yosef had built next to the house. He found Yeshua there working on a yoke. When he informed Yeshua that his father had been critically injured when the scaffold fell, they came together to the house to break the news to Miriam.
            "I wanted to go to Yosef immediately,” Yeshua complained, “But mother made me stay home to take care for the younger children until she could return. She took Jacob with her to Sepphoris.”
             “No one knew at first how seriously Yosef was injured, “Miriam reported, “but by the time Jacob and I arrived Yosef had died. We brought his body back to Nazareth. The next day, we laid him to rest with his fathers."
            Yosef’s brother Clopas spoke up. “In spite of all of the efforts of my family and the neighbors to comfort Miriam and the children they remain overcome with grief!”
            "Yosef is gone." Miriam lamented. "He was a good husband and father. We will all miss him. He died before we could speak to him or hear his farewell blessing." Miriam became tearful. "He had only one injury, a small wound on his chest no bigger than a scratch as if something sharp had punctured his chest. There was nothing else, not even a bruise. I don’t understand how he could die from such a small wound!” She buried her face in her hands and wept.
            I gently touched the shoulder of my bereaved niece. She took her hands from her face and looked up at me with the eyes of a helpless and bewildered child. "Miriam," I murmured. "May I speak to you privately?"
            “Yes, of course.” She said. The room emptied until we were alone and she closed the door. We spoke only briefly. After we had completed our private discussion, Miriam walked to the door, opened it and called, "Yeshua, please come in here!" As he came into the room, he gave us a curious look. He seemed to know well the tone of his mother's voice and the look on her face when she was about to make a major announcement.
            "Yeshua, your great-uncle is now your father. Obey him as you did Yosef.” Miriam’s voice was firm. “Tomorrow afternoon you may take your Sabbath walk with him to show him the tomb.”
            “The next afternoon, after returning with the family from the small synagogue in Nazareth, I followed Yeshua as he silently led the way up the path to the tomb: a winding, dusty, narrow footpath that snaked up to limestone ridges. These rose steeply around the secluded encampment like the edge of a shell.
            I left my bodyguards at the house to tend to the horses. We would not need them as long as we remained in Nazareth. They would again be on duty when we left Nazareth to travel again via the bandit-infested highways back to Jerusalem.
Yosef had carved the family tomb himself from the limestone so plentiful in the slopes of the hill that rose some five hundred feet above the Nazarene encampment. In the grave, Yosef's body lay on a stone slab, washed, anointed with oils and perfumes, and wrapped in white linen. The corpse would rest there for several years until only a skeleton remained. A second funeral would lay the bones in a small stone box in the tomb. There they would stay, to wait for the company of other family members as future funeral processions eventually carried them up the same narrow winding path to the limestone hilltop.
            After visiting the tomb, we sat in silence outside and gazed across the landscape that sprawled beneath us. The encampment of Nazareth lay in one of the most beautiful places in the Galilee. You could not see any of this view of the surrounding country from the settlement, as it was in a basin; but when you climbed to the edge of this bowl, you could see thirty miles in three directions.          
            I tried to think of something to say to break the silence. “I can see the road that I arrived on yesterday afternoon,” I offered, as I pointed towards the foot of the hill.
            “Yes, the Via Maris, the ‘Way of the Sea,’ Yeshua added. “ It is one of the major Roman roads in Judea and the Galilee. To the north, it connects Damascus with the Mediterranean seaports. To the south, it follows the coast all the way to Egypt.”
            I was sure Yeshua knew I was familiar with this major Roman highway, but he seemed to be trying to make conversation. I tried to keep the conversation going. “One thing you have to give the Romans credit for, they build a good road.”
            A look of contempt darkened Yeshua’s countenance. “Yes, with our money! They tax us at forty percent. That is why Yosef had to start working in carpentry and mosaics - to earn extra money to pay the taxes. Otherwise, they would have taken our land. It’s not possible to keep the land and feed a family when they take forty percent of everything you grow.”
            “He must have been gone a lot working,” I surmised.
"Yes, he was." Life in Galilee is difficult. Many families have lost their land because they were unable to pay the taxes. There is a lot of starvation here. Most families lose half of their children before they reach five years of age. Yosef promised me, ‘We will not lose our land, nor even one of our children!' He worked hard to provide for our family and counted on me to take his place when he had to be away working. When I got older, he started taking me with him and teaching me his trade. By then Jacob was old enough to take over helping mother with the younger children. On the Sabbath, Yosef and I always took a walk together, just the two of us. That is when we had our talks. He would try his best to answer the questions that I had saved for him during the week. He taught me a lot of history sitting right here. You can see where a lot of it happened. To the north, you can see the plateaus on which the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali lived, and the mountains of Lebanon, and that's Mount Hermon over there."
            The mountain he indicated spanned the border between Syria and Lebanon. Towering above them all, it raised its glistening white snowy peak in majestic splendor three thousand feet above the lower slopes.
            Yeshua pointed out the coast of Tyre, the famous Phoenician seaport destroyed by Alexander the Great, and beyond the coast, the blue waters of the Mediterranean to the West. “That’s where Elijah competed with and exposed the priests of Baal.” He said, indicating the long ridge of Mount Carmel running down to the sea.
            Every inch of the landscape that stretched before us was abundant with history. To the south, there was Megiddo and the whole Plain of Esdraelon, the site of many of the most historic battles of Israel. There was also Tabor and the hills of Gilboa where King Saul committed suicide when the Philistines defeated the Israelites. Mount Ebal and the land of Shechem lay in the background with the uplands of Gilead and Samaria. To the east, one could look across the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan Valley to the mountainous regions beyond.
            Yeshua pointed to the horizon, shielding his eyes with his hand against the setting sun. “To the West, you can just make out the sailing ships on the Mediterranean. You can only see them at this time of day when the sun is going down.”
            “Yeshua,” I began slowly and deliberately, trying to choose my words carefully. "You will be returning with me to Jerusalem. Now that Yosef is no longer with us, I will be taking care of you. Your mother tells me that you have always loved to visit Jerusalem for Passover. Now you will be able to live in this beautiful and most holy city, and you will not have to walk for a week anymore to see the temple. You will be living just a stone’s throw away from it!” Yeshua was silent.
            "I'm sure you know that your mother spent several years of her childhood living in the Temple compound. She loved her experiences and the excellent education she received there. I understand you are quite the scholar for one of your age. In Jerusalem, you will find more students with whom to debate the scriptures than in this little country encampment of farmers."
            Yeshua silently traced a circle in the dirt between his feet with a small stick. He would not defy his elder, but I could see he was not happy about this announcement.
            After a moment, I tried to speak for him. “I’m sure that you are worried about your mother and your brothers and sisters. They will be all right. I will see that they have whatever they need, and your father’s brother Clopas will keep an eye on them. It is best that they remain here in Nazareth to look after the crops.”
            I reached out and placed my hand gently on Yeshua’s shoulder. "I’m sure your cousin Yochanan will be excited to see you. You and Yochanan are practically the same age, and I know you are good friends,” I offered.
            “Yochanan has been living with the Essenes in the desert near Ein Gedi since Uncle Zechariah died,” Yeshua answered as if to remind me.
            “Well, we’ll just have to go into the desert where he lives and pay him a visit.” I stood up and tried to sound cheerful. “The sun has set. Let's head back to your house. We will leave in the morning for Jerusalem. I must be back soon to tend to some urgent business. There is a caravan that passed by on its way to Jerusalem yesterday that we can catch up with.”
            Yeshua dropped the stick in the dust. "I have to be about my Abba’s business. I must discuss this with my mother.” The lad rose from where he had been sitting and led the way along the narrow path snaking down the ridge into the pear shaped basin that nestled the tiny secluded collection of dwellings.
            That evening we ate a simple Sabbath meal of grain, olives, and grapes. We also enjoyed wine made from deep blue grapes grown on trellises on the southern facing slopes. The jars for storing the wine were Galilean-made, milled from local chalk-like soft limestone.
            During dinner, Yeshua tried to discuss with his mother my intention to take him with me to Jerusalem, but she had little to say about it. I could see that he sensed a struggle inside of her. Yeshua’s thoughts were easy to read on his face, which always seemed to express his every thought and emotion. I knew he could sense that his mother wanted him to leave quickly. He also was aware of her great difficulty in letting him go, the holding back of a flood of tears. Yeshua seemed to know his mother well enough to detect that there were important things she had not told him, and about which he must not ask.
            I was sure Yeshua felt he was abandoning his mother and his family. With Yosef often gone in Sepphoris working, Yeshua, as the oldest of the seven children, had provided critical assistance to his mother in helping her care for his younger children siblings. During the time he grew up, his mother was usually pregnant and nursing infants. Yeshua was ten years old when the last child, Yose, was born. Yosef had to work hard to keep his growing family fed. Miriam could not travel with all those youngsters. She had to stay home with Yeshua assisting her when Yosef was away working. Yeshua was not sure Jacob was ready to take over these responsibilities yet.
          In any case, the issue was not open for discussion. Before Yeshua knew it, it was early Sunday morning and I was calling him out of bed and telling him to saddle up.

Chapter 4

            We left at first light. It was still dark and chilly outside, and the moon illuminated the hillside as we finished packing our provisions and saddling the horses. Miriam gave Yeshua a reassuring smile as he mounted his steed. “You look so handsome and grown up riding such a big animal!” she exclaimed proudly as she handed her son a packed lunch to eat while we rode. “Don’t forget to eat!” she urged.
           “I didn’t get to say goodbye to everyone.” Yeshua apologized to his mother. “Will you say goodbye for me, especially to Jude and Marta?” Miriam nodded. Tears filled her eyes in spite of her best efforts to hold them back. “And tell Jacob for me that he is now the man of the house until I return.” Miriam again nodded her promise to do so as we left her standing in the dim morning light in front of the small rock and mud house that until two weeks before had sheltered her husband and all of her children for the last time.
            Yeshua had never ridden a horse before, but he had ridden his share of donkeys and seemed to take to the transition with little difficulty. From Nazareth to the Via Maris was about six miles. The hired guards escorted us with two preceding and two bringing up the rear. We proceeded down the hill in single file by way of a small, winding footpath.
The guards looked formidable. Each guard wore a bronze helmet that flashed in the moonlight. Hinged cheek plates, also of bronze, were tied together snugly under the chin. Arrow-deflecting segments of metal joined by bronze hinges protected the torso. On the right side, a long sword in a scabbard hung from a belt flung over the shoulder. A short dagger belted to the left hip, and a long lance in the left hand completed the weaponry. Armed for fighting from horseback, their weapons had a long reach. Any attacking bandit approaching on foot would be easy prey.
            This narrow path had made trading dangerous and impractical for the secluded encampment near the top of the Nazareth ridge, far from the reach of trade caravans. Life was thus predominantly local. Travel was dangerous. People moved about little. When they did go to the city for festivals or markets, family members or friends accompanied them with clubs and staffs. Some Galileans might make the lengthy pilgrimage to Jerusalem by traveling with large caravans that had hired guards. Our aim was to connect with such a train before dark.
            We had not been traveling for more than an hour when the path threaded through a shallow rocky ravine that was so narrow you could almost reach out and touch both sides at the same time. The dawn was just breaking, turning the sky from a deep blue to a light pink. About midway through the crevasse, we encountered a man lying face down on the path who appeared to be dead.
            “Keep a watchful eye,” I warned. “He could have been murdered by bandits!” Before I could stop him, Yeshua was off his horse and at the man's side, crouching down to see if he could be of assistance.
            “Yeshua, leave him be!” I shouted. “It could be a trap!”
            Before I could get all of the words out of my mouth, bandits leaped from the rocks above onto the mounted guards, pulling them to the ground. Once on the ground, the guard’s long swords and lances were worthless. The assailants slew all four guards before a single one of them could unsheathe his dagger. Their blood drained quickly and joined as one trickle that snaked its way down the path, quickly disappearing as the limestone dust eagerly drank it. The "dead" man got up, cackling over how we had fallen for his trick.
            I had pulled my sword but to no avail. The bandit put his knife to Yeshua’s throat and commanded that I drop my sword to the ground. I complied, and my blade clattered as it hit the stony path.
            A dozen bandits mounted on horseback surrounded us. They dismounted and quickly stripped the slaughtered guards of their armor and weapons.
            The leader of the bandits rode up, looked us over, and, mocking us, proclaimed,   "Well, what have we here? We have a well-dressed man and six beautiful horses! Now, what amount of treasure would warrant such a heavily armed escort? Looks like today's our day, boys!"
            By this, he meant it was their time to take back the monies they felt had been robbed from them and of the robbing of their livelihood and land by the Romans. Farming families just barely subsisted growing the food they needed. The heavy taxes caused many to lose their land and thus their livelihood. Some turned to itinerant trade work, others to fishing, some to begging, and still others, to banditry. Parents sold daughters into slavery to pay tax debts, and women became prostitutes or begged. Once a family lost its land, they almost never got it back.
            "Are you a tax collector?" The leader asked with a sneer. Jews hated tax collectors not only for collecting the resented taxes but also because they usually forced the collection of even larger amounts than due so that they could pocket the difference. The taxpayer had no recourse as the Roman soldiers enforced collection of taxes. Jews considered other Jews who became tax collectors for Rome to be the worst kind of traitors.
            “I am just a humble merchant who is bringing my nephew with me back to Jerusalem from Nazareth due to the recent death of his father. Your presence here justifies the need for guards to assure our safety. We have no money. We just want to travel to Jerusalem safely.”
The head bandit laughed. “I hope you did not pay too much for your armed escort. They did you little good!”
            “Please allow us to pass in peace,” I begged. “The boy has suffered enough with the death of his father not two weeks ago.”
            “You say this boy is from Nazareth?” The bandit turned to Yeshua. “What is your name, boy?”
            Yeshua was mute with fear.
            “His name is Yeshua!” I offered.
            “Let the boy speak for himself!” The bandit insisted, holding up a hand to silence me.
            “Never let others speak for you, boy. Now, again, what is your name?”
            “Yeshua.” He answered his voice barely audible, his face pale.
            The bandit moved his mount closer and peered down at the lad, his eyes narrowed with interest.
            “Was your father Yosef bar Jacob?”
            Yeshua nodded silently.
            “And your mother is Miriam bat Joachim?”
            “She is.”
            “Adonai, forgive us!” The leader exclaimed as he dismounted and dropped to the earth and bowed with humble respect to Yeshua. All of the bandits followed his example.
            The angry and challenging manner of the band of thieves evaporated. Suddenly humble and gracious, they admonished me for traveling without an adequate escort.
            “You should know better than to be traveling alone in these parts,” the leader scolded me. “There are many bandits and other desperate people about who would kill you just for your horses. You must not put the boy at such risk. He is our greatest hope. You must always assure his safety. Four guards, even professional ones are not enough security, as you have seen today. I must insist that we escort you safely to a caravan that is not far ahead on its way to Jerusalem. You must join this procession if you are to be safe. Always travel with a large and well-armed group.”
            I did not comment that this had been our plan before the bandits molested us.
            The head robber addressed Yeshua. ”Your father was a brave man and died well. Please accept our heartfelt condolences.”
            Yeshua gave me a look of complete shock and bewilderment.
            It was close to sundown before we caught up to the caravan. We had known for some time that we were getting close. The odor of sweaty men and animals and various excretions that the convoy left lingering in the air became stronger; the piles of dung on the road fresher. The tail end of the train finally came into view in the dim of the evening twilight.
            The leader of the bandits raised his arm and pointed. "There it is!" The thieves came to a halt.
            We could easily see why the villains would come no closer to the caravan. A sizable number of fierce-looking guards armed with spears and swords, maces, bows, and arrows accompanied the procession of several hundred donkeys, camels, and pedestrians.
            “Now, please excuse us as we bid you farewell.” The head bandit said as the mob quickly spun around. “May Adonai be with you!” He exclaimed.
            The bandits disappeared back into the landscape as quickly as they had first appeared, taking with them the four of our horses that the killed guards had ridden.
            Yeshua appeared visibly shaken. Death was not new in his experience, but I doubted he had ever seen anyone murdered before. I could see that the killing of our guards and the sudden change in the attitude of the bandits had Yeshua profoundly affected and confused. He remained silent; his face still pale from fear and shock. I knew I needed to have a talk with him and soon.
            After we had taken a place in the procession, we spent the remainder of the day's light passing mile after mile of olive trees, planted in groves along the road. Our first day's journey concluded with the caravan's nightly routine, the setting up of the night's encampment. As night came upon us, donkeys and camels were unloaded, tents pitched, carpets spread, fires lighted, guards set, and beasts fed and watered from a nearby stream.
            Soon many campfires blazed, and after a meal, groups of travelers huddled around the fires hugging their warmth and entertained each other with conversation, debate, news, and details of elaborate adventures that provided unending amusement for the weary travelers. The first night Yeshua recited the story of Abraham to the group that surrounded our fire. A diligent student, Yeshua had committed the Torah to memory. He found an interested audience, since many in the caravan were of Hebrew descent but incompletely schooled in the Torah as well as much of their Hebrew heritage. Most could not read or write and had heard at best bits and pieces of stories handed down orally around similar campfires.

            After a time, as the fires burned low and the groups of sleepy travelers disbanded into their tents for the night’s rest, I found myself alone with Yeshua by a dwindling fire.

                            copyright 2017 H Joseph Horacek, Jr. All rights reserved

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